


His Love Is Like A Hurricane

by fouroux



Category: U2
Genre: Consensual Violence, M/M, Metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 11:28:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4477556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fouroux/pseuds/fouroux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Bono is a metaphorical hurricane and Edge muses about the kinky sex they have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Love Is Like A Hurricane

Edge couldn't remember when it had all started.  
  
He remembered the first song he had consciously listened to, he remembered the first record he had bought with his own pocket money, he remembered the feeling of holding his first guitar in his hands, and he remembered that first meeting in Larry's kitchen. Like it was yesterday.  
  
But Edge couldn't remember their first kiss.  
  
When he tried to think back, he could only picture a storm. A wild, young hurricane with eyes like the sky; and himself in the middle of it, wind howling so loud and currents so strong, he had surrendered to the gusts without a fight. And still, he found himself there. Voluntarily, with his arms spread wide, welcoming the squalls lifting him up and spiralling him higher and higher, nearly tearing him apart from the force of it, but it never did.  
  
Standing within that tempest had felt natural from the start, even more so than the music; maybe that was why his brain had never bothered to label this memory with a specific time and place. There wasn't even really a memory to recall anymore. First, there had been him and his brother, then the music, then the band, and then the hurricane. That was the basic structure of Edge's life, and it had never occurred to him that it could have taken a different direction at any point. He was meant to be right here. In the eye of the cyclone.  
  
Edge bore the marks of it, too. Rarely on few selected parts, but usually his whole body ached after another stormy embrace. Scratches, bruises, scrapes and bites; the usual results of sharing his bed with the natural disaster that was his lover.  
  
Yet, Edge didn't particularly enjoy pain. He was aware that the concept caused some people to experience sexual stimulation, he had studied the phenomenon with interest and revisited the issue many times over the passing years, but despite his recurring curiosity on the matter he had realized fairly early on that pain didn't cause him pleasure. It was something else. It was facing and accepting the storm with open arms, being his _tornado alley_ ; the place where the hurricane was destined to strike, over and over, unable to escape its atmospheric and geographic destination. Because that was how God had made them; it couldn't be any other way.  
  
It had taken Edge a while to realize that. During their big American adventure, he had kept wondering why. Why was this the way they worked? Maybe this was how men loved, he had concluded on the road to San Diego; or maybe the hurricane didn't know how to love differently. Nonsense, really. Washington had happened, and Edge had seized his chance to take the wounded Aeolus slow and gentle. His hurricane had howled and howled, but this time for different reasons. And then Edge had known.  
  
On most days, he was the forest of a glen, endless and enduring, deep and quiet, and his hurricane the swathe that came cutting through. On others, the storm gentled amongst the trees without much reason, and Edge supposed that was simply how nature worked. He had never questioned it again.  
  
Edge couldn't remember their first time, but he remembered last night as the furrows along his ribs burned where his polo shirt touched his sensitive skin, his hips screamed against the pressure of his belt and his guitar strap cut into the deep bite on his left shoulder. And from the catwalk his hurricane smiled like the devil and came swirling his way; always his way, down tornado alley.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this hurricane metaphor came from, but there it was and wouldn't let me go. I basically wanted to write something kinky and have Bono be a violent little terrier in bed, but then this was the fic that came out. That's my brain to you.
> 
>  
> 
> PS: Washington is the place where Bono dislocated his shoulder during a show, in case this reference confuses anyone.  
> PPS: Thanks to my lovely betas spacemonkey and nu2mb, you guys help me out so much <3 All remaining mistakes are my own. As always, no harm intended. I only have some fun with words.


End file.
